


Jackhammer

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-20
Updated: 2011-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-17 04:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Night after night, the noise from Chris' hotel room keeps Karl awake. But it's not what he thinks it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jackhammer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Drinks" challenge over at jim_and_bones, prompt: jackhammer.
> 
> A jackhammer, by the way, is 1 1/4 shots of vodka + pineapple juice, layered in a highball glass.

_One, two, three_ , Karl thinks against the pounding in his head. _One, two, three_.

One year since he finalized his divorce. Two months since the press tour started. And three? That's the time nearly every morning when he hears the incessant, pounding noise coming from the hotel room beside his. _Chris_ ' room. Because when they drew straws and paired up for adjoining rooms, he and Chris both pulled the ones tipped in green.

And now, late every night—or early in the morning, however you see it—Karl is treated to the sound of Chris screwing whichever person he disappeared with just a few hours earlier, the headboard banging so rapidly against their shared wall that it sounds like someone's bloody _jackhammering_ back there, trying to tear down the entire building from the inside.

Karl had thought that Quinto looked a little smug when he pulled a blue straw.

"Fucking hell," Karl mutters into his pillow. "Poor girl won't be able to _walk_ tomorrow."

The banging speeds up; the sharp, battering sound becomes mingled with the squeaks of bed springs. Karl groans and pulls the pillow over his head completely.

And he absolutely does not, does _not_ acknowledge the erection he's squashing between his stomach and the bed. Because if he pretends it isn't there, that he doesn't have the hots for his busy and...well, energetic co-star, then that's something he can live with.

*

Naturally, Quinto is insufferable. Karl doesn't expect any less.

"Wow, Karl, you look _tired_. Are you _tired_ , Karl? Need an espresso or seven?"

Karl needs twelve, at least. He grunts and rubs his palm over his face. "How did you manage it, Quinto? You looked perfectly fine and rested every day. Do you have some sort of pact with the devil?"

"Close. Red Bull," Zach says, sipping his coffee. "And those energy boost things. And then there were the nights I'd just say fuck it and sleep in the tub."

"Of course you slept in the tub, you bendy bastard." Karl sighs and shakes his head in misery, pushing his eggs around his plate. "I'm not sleeping in the tub. I'll pull something important."

"Then might I suggest drastic measures? A triple dose of Nyquil before you go to bed? Chloroforming yourself? Or—oh! A giant turkey club and a bottle of red wine for dinner every night!"

Karl smothers a pained laugh into his hand and considers, just for a moment, telling Zach what the real heart of the problem is.

"I could do with some Nyquil," he says instead. Zach nods in understanding, his lips pressed into a firm line.

"I think I saw a CVS somewhere around here."

*

Karl's chatting with Zoe one night when he spies Chris out of the corner of his eye, putting his usual game plan into play. Except this time, it's with a tall, olive-skinned, dark-haired _guy_. Who kind of reminds Karl a lot of, well...himself.

He splutters his vodka and seltzer all over. Zoe reaches up to dab a stray droplet from his chin.

"What's the matter with you?" she asks. Karl shakes his head, trying not to gesture over at Chris too obviously.

"Since when is Pine into men?"

"Um...since always, I think?" Zoe holds her slim straw between thumb and forefinger and shrugs as she sips. "Granted, I don't know all the gory details."

"I do," Zach chirps as he walks by. He pauses to whisper in Karl's ear. "Those nights were the loudest."

Karl swallows and looks over Chris' direction again, but he's already gone, along with the olive-skinned gentleman. He wonders where he can get a turkey dinner at this hour.

In the end, he goes to bed much more sober than he'd prefer, and at three in the morning, the jackhammering begins—noisier and friskier, just as Quinto described. Karl withstands about five minutes of it before giving up and heading for the bathtub. Once settled there, he jerks off in record time, his cheek pressed to the cool tile and his breath stuttering hot, fast, and helpless.

*

He starts yawning during interviews, which is bad. Really bad.

"Guess we'll have to edit that," one reporter mumbles under her breath as she wraps up. It's purposely loud enough for Karl to hear it.

"Sorry," he says with a wince. She ignores him. John gives him a critical look from the adjacent chair.

"Dude, I have some Ambien in my room, if you need it."

"No, no..." Karl laughs mirthlessly as he rubs his forehead. "It's not what you think. It's just, uh..."

John gives him a sympathetic smile. "The Jackhammer. I know. We've all endured it at some point or another. I'd offer to switch rooms with you but the Cho needs his beauty rest. You're welcome to crash with me tonight, though. Get a decent night's sleep?"

Karl nods and tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes. "Might take you up on that."

*

That night, Karl's so tired after hours upon hours of interviews and bantering that he ends up falling asleep in one of the cushy chairs in the hotel lounge. By the time he rouses and realizes where he is, it's too late to go knocking on John's door. And it's nearly three. Karl heaves a sigh and stands, heading to the elevator for the brief trip up to his floor.

When he gets there, he's surprised to find Chris going into his own room—alone. And Chris looks just as surprised to see him.

"Karl, hey," he says, eyes wide. He pauses, key card held aloft in his hand. "You're usually asleep by now, aren't you?"

"Took an unexpected catnap in the lobby," Karl says. He scratches his head, feeling muzzy and bashful at the admission. He notices the way Chris bites his lip, though. It's...odd. "You're, uh... No friend with you tonight?"

"Friend?" Chris repeats, looking genuinely perplexed.

Karl blinks, suddenly more than a little uncomfortable with Chris' gaze firmly on him. He fumbles in his pockets for his own room key. "Well, you know. I just always see you with...um. You know what? Never mind. It's none of my business."

"No, tell me," Chris says, stepping closer. Too close. His hair is slightly mussed from a long day and his top shirt buttons are open and he's got this dark tinge under his eyes that make them look even brighter. "You see me with who? You're watching me?"

"No," Karl says immediately, defensively. He shakes his head firmly. "No, I'm not _watching_ you, Chris. I mean, sure, I see you sometimes, but it's more that—oh, hell." He groans, deciding right there and then to stop pussyfooting around and get it out in the open. "I can _hear_ you, okay? Every night. Like clockwork."

Chris pales slightly. "You...you hear me? When I—"

"Yes, when you're having sex." Karl blurts it out, doesn't mean to, really, but it feels fantastic to get it off his chest already. "I hear you having sex. Every damn night. With the wo—the people you run off with at the hotel bar. Your headboard or whatever it is, it bangs on the wall nonstop. It's like someone's doing construction work in there. I can hardly sleep!"

"I, um. Wow." Chris pauses for a long moment. Then he turns, more embarrassment on his face than Karl is used to seeing, and presses his forehead to the wall. "I'm...not having sex. I'm, um...alone. When you hear me."

"Alone," Karl says, processing. "But the people you're with...?"

"Yeah, I pick them up and we fool around a little. Then I ditch them and come back here and think about my super hot, fuckable, newly single friend, fast asleep right on the other side of that wall. Or at least I thought you were asleep. I think about you a lot." Chris licks his lips and squints, turning back to Karl. "I guess I can be...enthusiastic."

Suddenly, Karl's not as tired as he thought he was. His body is definitely taking an interest in this turn of events. And he wants a better look at the contrasting smudges under Chris' eyes.

"You," he starts, stepping closer. "It's just you in there? Making all that racket? What...what on _Earth_ are you doing in there, Pine?"

Chris grins suddenly, the mischievous look back in his eyes that Karl knows all too well. "You really wanna know?" he asks. He motions to his door. "'Cause, I mean, I could show you. If you're up for it."

Karl rips the key card right out of Chris' hand and lunges for his door.

*

He makes it through four hours of press the next day before Quinto and Cho catch him in a yawn.

"Ahaaaa!" John declares, shaking a finger. "I knew you were still sleep-deprived. Why didn't you take me up on my offer last night?"

"Something came up," Karl says. It's the truth, really. "I'm feeling much better, actually." Which is also the truth. Because every time he closes his eyes, he gets a flash of Chris, gloriously naked with his delectable ass in the air, opening himself up for Karl, three fingers deep, before Karl bats his hand away and slides home. Thrusting into that tight heat over and over again, the headboard battering against the wall all the while, Chris' knuckles white as he grips it with both hands. _One, two, three. One, two, three._

"Poor Karlybear." Zach smirks over the rim of his coffee cup, then reaches out and pats his shoulder. "Maybe next week I'll take pity on you. We can switch so you're not saddled with the Jackhammer."

"Nah, that's all right. I'm getting used to it," Karl says. _And doing a little jackhammering of my own._ "But thanks."

Zach and John share a confused glance. Karl just hums and eats his breakfast.


End file.
